Behind The Name
by gamrwraith
Summary: A response to mackgirl's Character Challenge, this series of oneshots explores many unrevealed elements of the lives of canon characters. Rated T for subject matter.
1. Hide

Disclaimer: The whole J

**Disclaimer: **The whole J.K impersonation thing just isn't very becoming of me. Thus, I can't even pretend that I own any of this.

**A/N: **This is a response to mackgirl's Character Challenge. It uses Table 3. Thanks for reading, and please R&R!

**Chapter 1: Hide **

**Draco Malfoy**

Each resounding footfall caused the cringing boy to wince once more in anticipation of what was to come. _I hope that my powers don't cause the windows to shatter again, like last time_, he thought ruefully. If only Potty and the Weasel could see him now. In spite of himself, he almost chuckled at the irony if it all. Draco Malfoy, the heir apparent to his father's vast fortune, sobbing in his room like a child.

It had all started after the Dark Lord returned last month. Contrary to being cordial to the small cadre of dedicated followers who had apparated to his side upon his return, he had showed barely contained aggression to all of them. He seemed to have been particularly hostile towards Lucius. On several occasions, Draco had overheard his parents' hushed conversations, and the mere memories caused him to shudder. Their benefactor was, after all, a lawless man who murdered on the slightest whim.

Ever since that time, Lucius had become steadily more violent towards Draco. True, the younger Malfoy had been beaten before, but only when he had truly done something to warrant it. He remembered Father's incredulous outrage when he learned, as a former member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, that the mudblood Granger had bested his son on every exam during the boy's first year. Draco had been unable to sit down for a week after that knowledge had come to light. Afterwards, he had resolved to commit himself to living up to his status as a pure blood, and yet never seemed to be capable of distinguishing himself from the filth that surrounded him on a daily basis at Hogwarts.

He glanced out of his bedroom window, attempting to distract himself in vain. It was a fine July evening. The splendour and opulence of Draco Malfoy's room was lost upon him as he sought to concentrate on the sound of birds singing in the distance. While his may have been a life of unreserved privilege and apparent indulgence, at this moment it felt like an oppressive prison. His Nimbus 2001 broomstick lay unattended in a corner. He did not truly enjoy Quidditch, and never really had. The broom had simply been a novelty, and represented one more vain attempt to conform to Father's wishes. Assorted posters of the Weird Sisters and the Maelstrom Mages cluttered his walls, although the room was mostly neat. A stack of textbooks lay open upon his desk, which were the only sign that the room was inhabited at all. He had never been allowed a pet, as such attachments were not becoming of a Malfoy. Draco tried to burrow deeper into his four poster bed, as if doing so could prolong the inevitable. When the high pitched voice sounded from just behind his head, he almost jumped involuntarily.

"Master Draco is still up to his unruly habits, I see." When Draco turned to confront its owner, his first emotion was mortification that someone else, anyone else, could possibly see him in this state. However, when he witnessed the bat like ears and small frame, his face flushed with anger, and he was forced to restrain himself from strangling the wretched house elf. He spoke balefully.

"What are you doing here, Dobby? Father doesn't take kindly to trespassing toerags." If Dobby was upset at the insult, he did not show it. Rather, his face was contorted in a gesture of determination and…Draco screwed up his eyes momentarily…pity? He spoke again bitterly.

"Look, if you're looking for revenge now that you're free, and all that, then make it quick. I can handle it. I'm tired of all this, anyway." When Dobby spoke, however, he did not seem upset.

"Dobby has come to help young master Draco. Dobby is a strange house elf, but master Draco has always known this. Ever since master Draco was a boy, Dobby has seen Master Malfoy harm master Draco. This was one of the first things that caused Dobby to doubt his old master." Draco shook his head abashedly.

"So, it _was _my fault that you left, was it? Father blamed me, you know. He said that I should have kept a closer eye on you." Dobby shook his head decisively.

"No, but Dobby had to punish himself often when Master Malfoy beat Master Draco. He had thoughts against his master, you see, and could not aid master Draco, because this would have directly gone against the wishes of Dobby's other master. Instead, Dobby went to the aid of another boy in a similar situation, one who he could help without bringing direct harm to Master Malfoy. Now that Dobby is free, he may act as he chooses, and he chooses to help Master Draco." He puffed out his small chest assertively, and Draco frowned.

"Other boy? What other boy? Who are you talking about, Dobby?" However, Dobby shook his head firmly.

"No time, Master Draco, no time! Your father is approaching as we speak. When Master Malfoy enters, Dobby will cast a memory charm. Master Malfoy will think that he has already finished with Master Draco, and will leave. Meanwhile, Master Draco must hide." Draco climbed to his feet hastily, the unanswered questions threatening to overwhelm his mind. Dobby prodded him lightly.

"Hurry, Master Draco, hurry!" Draco rushed to a set of French doors and pushed them open to reveal a balcony. His breath coming in rolling gasps, he stepped outside, and closed the doors behind them. The rain abruptly hit his shivering form, drenching him to the skin. The windows in Malfoy Manor were enchanted to portray whichever weather best suited the mood of Lucius, which often proved to be deceiving. Even over the sound of the storm, however, he could hear Father's footsteps hurrying of the winding staircase outside of his room. Abrubtly, they ceased, and Draco swallowed anxiously. He opened the door, unsure of what to say to the house elf who had just negated the many prejudices that Draco had always nurtured about his kind. However, there was no one there. Yet, Draco knew that, wherever he was, Dobby understood.


	2. Law

A/N: Please R&R

**A/N: **Please R&R! Also, I have not become J.K in the last three and a half minutes, and thus none of this belongs to me.

**Chapter 2: Law**

**Percy Weasley**

Percy Weasley mumbled the incantation breathlessly, and cursed under his breath as he accidentally shattered the left lens of his horn rimmed glasses, which he was clutching tightly in his right hand. Repairing them with a flick of his wand, he reached for his pocket handkerchief instead, scrubbing them vigorously before replacing them upon his steep nose. Percy took a perfunctory glance around his office to ensure that everything was in order, and nodded in grim satisfaction. He positively adored the structured, controlled environment of the Ministry, but felt anything but composed inside at the present moment. Pius Thicknesse, the new Minister for Magic, had been sworn into office mere hours before, and was likely even now striding down the corridors of the Ministry towards Percy's domain. Ordinarily, the third eldest Weasley brother would have been thrilled to meet the most powerful political figure in the wizarding world, but simply could not remove _her_ face from his mind this evening.

Penelope. His Penelope. The woman who loved him, and, perhaps, one of the few people who truly appreciated the organized archives that constituted Percy Weasley's brain. He could not expel her expression of utter disbelief and contempt from his mind. She had been expecting a proposal. For that matter, on some level, he had been expecting to provide a proposal. He would have conjured the ring from behind her ear. Terribly cliché, perhaps, but it was, after all, how they had first met at the age of eleven. A much younger Percy had been struck by the attractive blonde girl who sat in front of him in Charms class, and had done that same trick with a coin, much to her delight. He had learned that trick from his father, who had once purchased a Muggle magic set. Penelope had been thrilled at the time, because, as a first year student from a non magical background, she had seen very little magic before, and assumed that Percy was more advanced in magical mastery than most of his peers. They had laughed about that in later years. Indeed, she was the only person alive who he could laugh with unabashedly. She brought out his ludic side. Percy had always felt that he could never simultaneously joke and be taken seriously, but there was no need for such worries around her.

However, in recent months, tensions within the Ministry had been escalating. Now, anti-mudblood propaganda was more all pervasive than ever, and it was only a matter of time before legislation was enacted that would make it illegal to marry someone of Muggle parentage. It would hardly have done for the Junior Assistant to the Minister to be caught up in such a potentially embarrassing situation. He had attempted to be as benign and casual about it as possible, which had shattered her all the more. The obituary in the _Prophet _had been brief and almost snide the next morning, claiming that Penelope Clearwater, aged 21, had died of a brain haemorrhage. The autopsy had been carried out by St. Mungo's, but they were being tight lipped about disclosing anything to anyone outside of the immediate family. However, Percy had known the cause firsthand. Although it was seldom discussed between them, Penelope was especially prone to bouts of uncontrolled magic. As a child, she had demonstrated magical potential earlier than most young witches and wizards, and, given the fact that she was raised in a Muggle home, her parents had been unable to prevent their daughter's outbursts from taking place. By the time that she learned that she was a witch, the outbursts were so entrenched that they could only be controlled, and generally not prevented altogether. They were especially likely to manifest themselves during occasions of extreme stress or tension. Once, Percy remembered, she had accidentally turned Professor Snape's hair purple while writing an exam, but the reminiscent laugh died on his lips. He had never dreamed that the condition would kill her.

Over the last few weeks, Percy had retreated further into his shell than ever before. He had alienated his friends, what few he had, and was ashamed to admit that he was drinking more firewhisky than he strictly should. Even his work had begun to suffer, not to mention his ideology. As he locked his wand in his desk, he assured himself that he did so because clutching it would have been unseemly. In all actuality, however, he was often sorely tempted to jinx Thicknesse whenever he saw the man. After all, he had been one of the driving forces behind the impending legislation. Now, that would hardly do.

Percy had always cherished the rules, and the law, but was finding at last that there was a hefty price to be paid for their sanctuary.


	3. Legs

A/N: Still not JK, folks, sorry

**A/N: Still not JK, folks, sorry. As always, please R&R!**

**Chapter 3: Legs**

**Rubeus Hagrid**

As a firm knock resounded at the front door, Rubeus Hagrid was tempted to break into a grin. Hoisting himself to his feet, he ran a lined hand hastily through his unkept hair. He seldom got visitors these days, and was determined to make a good impression. Fang began barking from his basket in the corner, but did not bolt to the door, tail wagging, as he once had. _Lazy mutt_, Hagrid thought fondly. Time had begun to take its toll on the both of them. Just the other day, while grooming the boarhound, he had discovered a patch of grey hair on his friend's leg.

Striding to the door, he opened it to reveal a severe looking witch standing on his front doorstep. Although the years had begun to take their toll on her, Hagrid knew that Minerva McGonagall was just as capable of a teacher as she had been during his own schooling. He inclined his head slightly.

"Mornin' Headmistress. Would you care to step inside?" McGonagall gave him one of her rare smiles.

"That would be wonderful, Hagrid, thank you." She moved across the threshold briskly, handed Hagrid her overcoat, and looked around the hut for a moment, still smiling.

"You have done a wonderful job of rebuilding since the Battle of Hogwarts. However, I do not understand why you chose to refuse our offer of magical assistance." Hagrid bowed his head modestly.

"Well, yeh know, Headmistress, it was jus' somethin' to keep this ol' head of mine busy." McGonagall smiled understandingly, and laid her hand on one broad shoulder.

"You missed them, didn't you? Potter and his friends? I saw that look on your face when you first opened the door. You were hoping that it was them, weren't you?" Hagrid smiled sadly.

"Ah remember 'ow Harry was when ah firs' met him, bless him. So curious, and bold. Who could have ever dreamed wha' he would go on to do. Ah was the one who firs' told him about all of it, you know. Abou' You-Know-Who, abou' his parents, an' all that. Sometimes, when things were lookin' bad for 'im, I blamed myself. Ah remember, in Azkaban…" His voice trailed off before he resumed speaking.

"Ah wonder what might 'ave happened if he never knew tha' he was a wizard. Ah did my best by him, that ah did, but ah could never replace Lily an' James." He hiccoughed involuntarily, choking back a sob. McGonagall patted his shoulder.

"I can think of no one else who might have been a better mentor to Potter, Hagrid." Hagrid was gazing off into space, smiling fondly.

"Ah remember, las' year, tha' was the hardest part of everythin' for me. Not knowin' where Harry was, not knowin' if he was safe. Then, that night in the Forest…" He shook his head grimly.

"I love the Forest. Always have, since ah was a boy. But, since tha' night, ah've not bin able to go back. Too many memories." McGonagall nodded solemnly.

"I understand why you chose to resign as Care of Magical Creatures professor, Hagrid. However, I can't help but worry about you. The entire staff worries about you. I have not seen you since the wedding. Your gift to the Potters was truly fine." Hagrid nodded in acknowledgement.

"Loyal to the death, boarhoun's are, an' great guard dogs to boot. Ah had some trouble coming by that puppy, though. They 'aven't been bred so much, lately." McGonagall smiled again.

"Potter and Miss Weasley loved it, I must say." Hagrid returned the smile.

"Well, ah had considered givin' 'em the last Blast Ended Skrewt, bu' the poor thing went an' blew itself up before the wedding." They both laughed before McGonagall cleared her throat.

"Hagrid, I have been going through many of Professor Dumbledore's papers as of late, which is the real reason why I am here this morning. Apparently, unknown to myself and the rest of the staff, Albus was tutoring you in private for three years prior to his death, since shortly after you were cleared of the whole Chamber affair. It is my understanding that you wished to become a fully trained wizard, having missed much of your formal education due to circumstances outside of your control." She stared over her spectacles at him, and Hagrid felt slightly belittled, in spite of his size.

"Thus, I feel obliged to ask why you did not choose to approach me in the wake of that tragedy. Do you not wish to continue with your education?" Hagrid fumbled to find the correct words.

"No…well, yes, Professor, of course ah do! It jus'…well, it jus' didn' seem right, you know? Grea' man, Dumbledore…ah jus' didn' think tha'…well…" McGonagall nodded in understanding.

"You didn't think that anyone else would be willing to teach you?" Hagrid nodded, and she smiled for the third time.

"Well, if we get started now, then you should be able to finish by the time that the Potter child is christened." Hagrid raised his eyebrows incredulously.

"Headmistress…surely, ya don' mean…" McGonagall nodded.

"Yes, I do. Now, we must arrange a schedule for lessons. I will need to send an owl to the Ministry to arrange for the appointment of a NEWT examiner, although that will surely not be a problem. When would you like to get started?" Hagrid smiled broadly.

"As soon as possible, 'eadmistress!" McGonagall pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"Of course, Hagrid, but on one condition. There will be no more skulking in your cabin on feast nights, and no more concealing yourself from the world. You played a key role in the Battle of Hogwarts, not to mention a pivotal role in the life of the Boy Who Lived. If you were half so proud of yourself as others are of you, then I daresay that you will be a great wizard yet. Your lessons will be taken in my office. I daresay that Professor Dumbledore's portrait will have a thing or two to say to one of his most trustworthy and oldest friends. Now, come. There is no time to waste." The pair strolled towards the door as Minerva McGonagall pulled on her coat again.

"Now, I understand that your Animagus is a boarhound, correct…"


End file.
